


The Young Blood and the Elder

by webhead3019



Category: Rambo Series (Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webhead3019/pseuds/webhead3019
Summary: Picking up on the heels of Last Blood, it will serve required viewing aplenty. John Rambo’s immediate family may be gone, but his next of kin isn’t. The catch is, Rambo doesn’t even know his son exists.





	1. Introducing New Blood

After the fated clash at his father’s ranch, Rambo wasn’t finished, not even close. The ranch had been passed onto Kota Hawk Rambo, just as it had been passed down to John from his father. Oh, yes. Unknown to John James Rambo, he had a son of his own. No, John never impregnated a woman the natural way. Following the war, he had too many personal issues to deal with that didn’t allow for such rewards. And yet, shortly before he left for Vietnam, John had donated his sperm under the very real possibility that he might not have came back. The semen sample had been preserved in a cooling unit for nearly 28 years before it was, at last made use of. Kota had nothing of value waiting for him in the 21 years of life that he had left behind. Upon discovering his true father’s last name, he both made the name his own and made it his mission to find his true calling.

Just as Rambo’s surrogate daughter Gabrielle had sought out her own biological father, albeit with more unfortunate results, Kota now sought his. It was his son’s birthday today and finding his father would be the only gift he’s received, as well as the only one he could possibly ask for. Rambo was left a broken man when Gabrielle left his world, now more than ever. She may have legally been his niece, but she was so much more now. Coincidentally, Rambo was gradually bleeding as Kota raced to the family ranch in which he had his apparent last stand. Rambo had no intentions of calling the cops. With good reason, John didn’t trust them, and he was more than willing to die. Gabrielle was his last beacon of light in this dark world and then she was snuffed out like everyone else before her. Everyone he had loved was now dead and he was ready to die too. Rambo had no idea he was still a father. Will Kota Hawk make it in time and inadvertently save his father?


	2. Rambo Meet Rambo

Kota Hawk Rambo left his custom red Indian motorcycle parked just inside of the no man’s land under the cover of the outermost horse stable. He opted not to risk losing his Indian to a potentially still active minefield. Even if he lost himself in the resulting explosion, he’d rather his bike be in one piece at least. He loved his ride like one would love his or her soulmate. Thankfully, Kota Hawk arrived not long after the small army who invaded John J. Rambo’s ranch and departed just as hastily for the hereafter. Their bodies and transportation were still very much of this plain, as Kota sidestepped through the wake of all his father’s carnage and destruction. This place had become a place writ with blood and death. Kota tightened the ends to both his tube bandana and his short ponytail. When he spotted him, his father wasn’t looking too shapely. He wished otherwise, but Kota knew he had to work fast. John’s eyes hardly locked with his own, but it didn’t faze Kota at all.

At least Kota Hawk wasn’t in the face he gave to John Rambo. Without so much as surprise in his expression, or really any emotion for that matter, Kota walked up the steps and quietly joined his long lost father on the porch. Kota sighed, “You’re a damaged man, John Rambo. I guess I should have expected to find you as such.” John looked up from his rocking chair and mistook his son for the enemy. John gazed at him for a second with a fire in his eyes before sighing back, “Fuck off.” Kota expected that much as well, but he didn’t plan what he would say in return. Kota took a moment of silence before asking, “Is this really how you want to die? Swearing at your own savior?” John chuckled an amused but self-deprived chuckle and he explained the reason for it by begging a question. John asked, “Why would I need saving? Everyone is dead and I have nothing to return for now. It’s over and I am done. It was a good run, screw you very much.”

John Rambo concluded, “What else has this world given to me that it hasn’t already taken back?” With the race against time in mind, Kota replied with more haste this go-around. Kota explained, “More than you know, which is precisely why I am here before you now.” Mildly intimidated by all the mystique, John asked, “And you are?” Equal in spontaneity, Kota asked back, “Who do you think?” John threw his hands up in defense and shot, “Sorry, but my memory isn’t like it was. Am I supposed to know you? Who’re you to me?” Kota paused for the second and last time before introducing, “Rambo. Kota Hawk Rambo.” John James Rambo let out a heavy sigh and said, “Oh, boy.” Kota nodded in accordance with his father and agreed, “That’s right. Let’s get you wrapped up now. We have much to talk about.” Kota Hawk Rambo proceeded, true to his word. On this rare time, overcompensation proved itself Kota’s greatest ally. He planned meticulously for such an encounter.

After his supposed son had treated to all his critical wounds with herbal remedies and the like, John Rambo addressed the elephant in the room when he asked, “How do I know you’re really who you say you are? And why did you keep my last name?” Even though John was still in his rocking chair, the kid was finally able to rest too. Kota Hawk did so before answering, “It’s to remind me of my roots. My foster name is Hawk. I have no intentions of changing that, but I am born of 2 worlds, not one.” John took a second before acknowledging, “I see you got my Native American blood in you. Well, more than that. What tribe are you?” In short succession, Kota followed up, “San Carlos. Western Apache.” The Western Apache were of course native to southeast Arizona. John half gathered his thoughts and half voiced them, “So are you a scent tracker or what? How did you find me, kid?” Kota had to think hard as it was a question with 2 equally correct answers.

Once he had both such answers, Kota Hawk cleverly replied, “Yes, but I used the Internet.” With a tablespoon of sarcasm, topped by a serving pitcher of actual conservatism, John Rambo remarked, “The Internet? So it’s really that easy, huh?” Without fully catching on to his quip, Kota specified, “Not always, but you weren’t exactly hard to find. You’re not nearly as paranoid as you think.” With a heavy sigh, John admitted, “It’ll be nice when I can finally tell myself that.” Never one to pass up the passing down of wisdom, Kota lectured, “Happiness sought is something not easily found.” John agreed, “Whoever raised you taught you well, kid. You should give them that much credit. So, what about you? Have you found your happiness yet?” Kota thought long and hard before concluding, “As fate would have it, I appear to be on the right track.” Kota wasn’t one to stand in one spot for long, but he found his middle ground by crouching beside his still recovering father.

Kota Hawk Rambo claimed, “Fate’s a curious bitch, as today also happens to be my birthday. That’s fate for you, isn’t it?” John James Rambo raised his brow, thinking there was more to Kota’s story than merely fate. Kota blew out steam and explained, “Although, I didn’t know celebrating it meant I had to patch up my long lost father so that he wouldn’t die before I could formally meet him.” John calmly and simply celebrated, “Happy birthday.” Kota thanked him, yet only in his head. Father and son watched the sun set. Once it disappeared over the horizon, Kota turned to John and said, “You’ve been sitting around long enough. If you stay out here any longer, you’ll become a part of that chair. Let’s get you inside.” Rambo shook his head and joked, “What? Is it time for my beauty sleep, kid?” Kota helped him to his feet and somewhat agreed, “Something like that. Although, much like mine, I get the feeling your face is too damn stubborn to change.” John acknowledged, “Like looking into a mirror. Touché.”

John Rambo one arm over his son’s shoulder as the young and able man carried him off. After getting one good whiff of the place, Kota Hawk requested, “You should light some incense in here.” John stumbled slightly, but hardly changed pace and asked, “Oh? Why is that?” Kota readjusted his grip and pointed out, “It smells as though someone died here.” John chuckled and said, “By now, I’m sure you know I’m more of a numbers guy, so I think you’re understating the matter.” Kota allowed himself a halfway smirk and admitted, “Yes. I do believe you’re right. Unfortunately for you though, incense is something I did not think to bring.” Father and son powered through the kitchen and with a point, John remembered, “That’s fine. I have matches too, but Maria left me some incense in the counter over there. I don’t think she really believed I was finished.” Once they got across the room, John propped himself along the counter with a deep exhale.

Upon disconnecting, Kota Hawk buckled down to open the sink. Kota rummaged through the cabinet, but not before informing John Rambo, “You’re a difficult man, father. Not even a difficult man can fool a wise woman though.” John was at once taken aback but agreed, “Hmph. You didn’t hear that one from me, but you’re still not wrong. Maybe the saying goes the same for wise men.” Kota centralizes his area of interest and struck no less than a bundle of incense so that the aroma would flood the place. Kota resumed carrying John the rest of the way and wondered, “Oh?” Just as they were entering his bedroom, John explained, “I’ve certainly been fooling myself as of late, but I get the feeling you’re much wiser than me. Maybe the saying goes the same for wise men. What’s the verdict now, Kota? Do you think I’m finished?” Kota tucked his father in for the night and answered, “No, John. Not even close. I tell you this, because even you don’t think so.”


	3. A Gruesome Devil’s Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter introduces the most horrific villain of the franchise to date. He’s racist and very sadistic. Torture won’t be present throughout the whole story, but there are two painful sequences in his first appearance alone that solidify his menace.

Gizelle knew well beyond a reasonable doubt an eyewitness account spotted her when she helped Rambo locate the friend Gabrielle she had betrayed. Unfortunately for her, Gabrielle also happened to be John Rambo’s niece. It was only a matter of time before the Martinez brothers put two and two together. She didn’t know they were dead and out of the picture, but that didn’t mean that the next deplorables were. Gizelle was packing her things, but she couldn’t pack soon enough. She noticed a man dressed in Texas Ranger attire, standing in the shadowy corner of her kitchen. She gasped as he wasn’t a welcome guest. Yet at this point and time, Gizelle was so sure she was ready for another surprise. It was either a lock problem or she just had a habit of running into the worst lot of people. It wasn’t the first time someone had dropped by unexpectedly. He wasn’t a welcome guest no less. Unfortunately, it might very well be her last.

The Texas Ranger broke the silence and asked, “Leaving so soon? We haven’t even gotten to know one another. Tsk, tsk. That’s just poor hostmanship.” Gizelle leapt with fright and exclaimed, “How the hell... Never mind, that doesn’t matter now.” The Ranger redirected, “Oh, but it matters to me. Surely you can spare me a moment.” Not slowing her pace one bit, Gizelle snapped, “No such moment. I have to get the hell out of here.” The Ranger pulled forth a chair that had been hidden behind him and counter offered, “Have a seat. We need to talk.” Gizelle denied him and spat, “Fuck off, cunt! I’ve had enough with you people.” Taken aback, the Ranger tapped the brim of his cowboy hat and wondered, “You people? Ain’t that just the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day. You might as well fluff my pillow and spank my ass while you’re at it.” Gizelle said, “Look, mister! I honestly don’t have time for this shit. Like, who even are you?”

The Texas Ranger said, “Why, did I not properly introduce myself? I’m a goddamn force to be reckoned with, you foul-mouthed young lady.” The Ranger motioned to the chair for the second time and insisted, “I have taken countermeasures in the case that you don’t adhere to my demands. You’d be wise to sit now.” Gizelle shot back, “Hell, no. What’s wise is being the bigger person, which also means not sitting down. However, I have a better idea. Go. Fuck. A goat.” The Ranger stated, “I suppose with the flick of my wrist and the kindness of my heart, I’ll just appoint a chair to you. After all, however can an uninvited stranger such as I repay such Southern hospitality?” She swept a bottle off the counter and threatened, “What part did your inept hillbilly ass not get? The cunt or you people, because to me, your like runs hand in hand. Back off, shithead. I won’t warn you again.” The Ranger chuckled, “Thanks for letting me know, sweetheart. Neither will I.”

The Texas Ranger certainly didn’t when he kicked the chair forward just as the bottle went taught. He shielded himself from above with one arm and the bottle shattered against the hard edge of his wrist. The chair skidded across the floor, knocking into both her and the table with great force. The action played out exactly as he had imagined it would. The resulting whack snapped her knee to the side and forced her to plop down into the chair. Her arm awkwardly slapped down onto the table and by that point, the Ranger had already traveled the length of the kitchen. The Ranger chopped off the hand she had presented to him with a machete. She screamed in agonizing horror as a rush of blood and gore fountained out of her recently dismembered arm. The Ranger pushed her hand off the table to make a clearing, smearing a trail of blood with it. The hand thumped wetly somewhere on the floor underneath the table.

The Texas Ranger implored, “You see? That’s what you don’t get, bitch. People like me? People in power? I can do well, anything I goddamn fucking please. And you know what that includes...” She gasped, “Wh-what?” The Ranger sighed and explained, “Oh, gee. I don’t know. Does chopping off your fucking hand ring a bell? Maybe I should chop off the other one, so you have two stumps to remind you, bitch?” She screamed and pleaded in passive defiance, “No, please!” The Ranger slammed her head on the table and broke her nose on impact. He gripped her by a tuft of hair and yanked her up violently. Blood streamed out both her nostrils and down her face. The Ranger asked, “Did you know machetes don’t always decapitate someone at once? It’s all about the weight and pressure ratios. You’re a fat bitch, but I’m willing to bet I can cut right through you like butter. I’ve chosen you to be an example. I promise you won’t feel a thing.”

She begged, “No, stop! I be-believe you. I just— I don’t want to die. I fucked up okay. I swear I’ll make it up to you. I’ll... I’ll take you to him.” The Texas Ranger laughed, “You’ll take me to him, will you? Your girlfriend’s father, the ex-Beret? John Rambo, is it?” She nodded, “Uh-huh. That’s him! I swear on my mother’s grave!” The Ranger said, “Then you knew just who the fuck I am, and yet you still tried. Unbelievable. You really are one stupid bitch. It’s a miracle you made it this long. Well, not long enough. Don’t worry you’ll be joining your mama any moment now. However, I can’t guarantee you’ll end up in the same place.” Still refusing to give up, she asked, “Don’t you need me? I mean it’s easier than back-tracing the rotten ole son of a bitch, right?” The Ranger pulled out his phone and sighed, “You’ll do anything to save your skin. I suppose it’s only fair that you know.” In his email, the Ranger clicked on a video link, one of his men had sent to him.

In the video, a familiar man named Manuel asked, “How the hell did you get in? Were you invited?” The same Texas Ranger in the video said, “As a matter of fact, I did receive an invitation. From you actually.” Manuel said, “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re clearly crazy. Where did you get that stupid uniform anyway? Did you steal it when you broke out of the asylum?” The Ranger said, “Make no mistake, my little brown friend. I’m very much in charge and you invited me when you did business with John James Rambo. His finger prints were all over the murder scene of one Victor Martinez. He was my partner in crime. I was supposed to get a sizable piece in the Martinez sex trafficking ring. I was on duty when locals discovered the older brother’s head. It was right on the border, nowhere near to where we found the body. Wouldn’t you say that’s a nice little fuck you to us here border police? You can laugh if you want, ya know. I’ll allow it.”

Manuel didn’t feel like laughing and instead defended, “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” The Texas Ranger said, “As you damn well shouldn’t, but what you should know is the fucking names I’m giving you.” Manuel said, “Of course. I hear ya.” The Ranger forebode grimly, “You better. I wasn’t informed by Hugo that his brother was officially a corpse, but I didn’t expect to be the first sorry bastard he contacted either.” The Ranger picked up pace as he had much ground to cover and cover he did, “So, what I don’t get is why his line has been dead for the last 24 hours. There’s been an all-around lack of communication between me and his cartel and believe me when I tell you that motherfucker had it made. A lifetime ago, him and his brother were just another pair of nameless psychos. Back in their heyday, I’d have killed the spics and not thought anything of it. The psycho part didn’t change but I gave em their fuckin names. Hugo was never the brains, but that didn’t stop him from cutting a deal with me.”

Still having much to say, the Texas Ranger didn’t let up and instead droned on, “Hugo made the best damn decision of his life when he found he could work the system for the right price. We combined our positions: my authority meshed with his degeneracy. Victor was a tough crowd to please at first, but in time, we made one hell of a team. In this deal of ours, Hugo could now cross the border at will. He was still a goddamn illegal, but that’s something you just turn a blind eye to when the arm of the law reaches all the way across the goddamn border. Both him and his brother hypothetically had no limitations as to what they could or could not do. Oh, yes. I simply must reiterate that the motherfucker had it made. I know Hugo like I know the back of my cold right hand. That little shit wouldn’t even dare to dream about doing anything that would jeopardize our agreement. I turned a blind eye to Hugo’s border jumping, but the crossing to there and back never took more than 24 hours.”

The Texas Ranger winded down and started to wrap up, “One would find that most concerning, but I’m no fool. I reckon Hugo went hunting and bit off more than he could chew. This Rambo. He interests me, so I’m choosing to keep his name out of the papers.” Manuel finally broke his silence, “Why the fuck would you do that?” The Ranger replied, “Why? I wish to conclude the hunt. It doesn’t get more crystal than that.” Manuel said, “That’s suicide. Last time I saw Rambo, that stubborn asshole tried to fuckin kill me. I didn’t even do anything except close the door on his hyper-emotional nightmare of a daughter.” The Ranger asked, “Gabrielle? Her track went cold as well, but I thought she was his niece... and your daughter?” Manuel cackled, “No uncle is crazy enough to hop the border just to save his fuckin niece. Besides, that ship set sail a long time ago.” The Ranger said, “That may be, but I think even you’re understating how far someone like John Rambo will go.”

The Texas Ranger clarified, “Like it or not, I’m out for blood and I’m in a curious position. Now we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way.” Manuel told him right off the bat, “Look, if you want to know where Rambo and Gabrielle live, that’s of no consequence to me. Like I said before, that ship set sail a long time ago.” A woman stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. Her eyes slowly adjusted as she inquired, “Who the hell’s the company? Wait. Why the hell is there a Texan Ranger here.” Manuel grimaced and said, “Honey. Run to the door and get the hell out... right now.” She read the fear in his voice and did as commanded. She tried the knob, but the lock was somehow jammed from the inside. She patted rapidly and whined, “Oh, my god. Honey, he did something to the door!” Manuel groaned as he should’ve realized such precautions someone on both border patrol and the Martinez payroll would have undertaken.

The Texas Ranger asked, “Who is she? The annoying bitch making all that sound? Trying to get out? Does she mean anything to you?” Manuel gulped and said, “She’s no one. She means nothing to me.” The Ranger said, “Fair enough.” He unclipped his badge and flung it at the woman padding at the door. The badge stuck through the base of spine at her tail and she crumpled to the ground. Manuel leapt up and exclaimed, “Woah! What the fuck did you just do?” The Ranger said, “I paralyzed her from the neck down. Sure, I nicked her just above the ass, but it’s all about the point of impact, right?” Manuel asked, “You mean to tell me she’ll never walk again?” The Ranger laughed, “I like to think she’ll be dancing when I’m through with her.” In real time, Gizelle gasped and the Ranger broke out in a hysterical fit of laughter. The Ranger breezily stroked her hair and said, “Don’t worry your pretty little heart, Gizelle. I usually like women better when they’re dead.”

Back to the video time, the Texas Ranger turned his attention to Manuel once more. In the missing time slot, the Ranger had retrieved his badge from the subdued woman’s back. He clipped the still bloodstained badge over his chest pocket. With a twisted sense of humor, Manuel pointed out, “Isn’t it professionally frowned upon when you don’t clean the badge after you make a mess?” The Ranger responded, “Blood fetish. Seeing that my business is momentarily facing obstacles, I want something I can huff on later.” Manuel cringed, “You’re fuckin sick.” The Ranger said, “Like me, you have a few screws loose as well. Not like me, you’re not the very bright sort of crazy.” Manuel said, “What the hell is that suppo—” Manuel screamed as a machete went taught and lopped off 3 fingers on his right hand. Manuel’s severed digits sprinkled and spilled across the ground like diced carrots on a cutting board and the knife traveled forward with no intentions of slowing at all.

The seemingly straight-lined momentum of the machete came to a sudden stop when the blade lodged itself in the wall all the way at the other end of the apartment. Manuel screamed, “Are you fuckin nuts? I told you I would give that cocksucker Rambo in a heartbeat, didn’t I? That was my pussy fingering hand for crying the hell out loud!” The Texas Ranger said, “You’re a peculiar man. If it’s any consolation, I was going to torture you anyway... just to confirm that you were so easy to win over.” Manuel sobbed, “What more can you possibly want out of me?” The Ranger explained, “You may know names, but I know damn well, you don’t know shit from jack in regards to our bases. How did Rambo find out about our club scene?” Manuel asked, “How the fuck am I supposed to know?” The Ranger booted Manuel backwards into a counter and said, “Wrong answer. Since you just don’t appear to be getting it, I’ll lay out some ground rules.”

The Texas Ranger said, “I don’t like it when spics don’t answer my questions faithfully, so every time you don’t do so, I take something that brings you pleasure. I’ll start with something important, so you know I’m not fuckin with you.” The Ranger held him in place with his leg and took a vice out of his rear pocket. He clumsily brought his pants halfway down his thighs with one free hand. Manuel screamed, “Woah! Woah! What the fuck are you doin man?” The Ranger laughed, “Why don’t you dick around and find out, dipshit?” The Ranger fastened the vice over Manuel’s left genitalia and spun the gear. He tightened and tightened, his testicle growing violet and bigger and his screams louder and more agonizing. Back to real time, Gizelle covered her mouth and gasped, “Jesuchristo! What the actual fuck!” She squirmed and attempted to avert her eyes leading into a pop squish sound. The Ranger smirked and sang, “My dear, Jesús has left the building, but who else is there to take his place?”

Still singing, the Texas Ranger answered his own question, “Sus los Diablo Tejano: I’m at your front door, baby!” The Ranger turned Gizelle’s face back to the video and spread her eyelids open with his fingertips. Back to the scene in the video, the Ranger pulled up a picture on the personal phone, as he didn’t take the video himself. He may have made a star turning role in his very own snuff film, but he wasn’t the director too. He never worked alone, he just liked to get his own hands in on the action. The photo in the video was pointed away from Gizelle in real time, but she knew who was being shown to him. The Ranger leaned into Manuel and asked, “Do you know who she is?” Manuel said, “That’s not Gabrielle.” The Ranger caused Manuel to cry out again when he readjusted the vice and said, “Yeah, no shit, wise guy. I popped one testicle already. It was very satisfying like a balloon. Well, maybe more so for me. Should I go ahead and pop the other one?”

Manuel pleaded, “No, please! I swear I never met that bitch in my life.” The Texas Ranger asked, “Really? You don’t know her? Because from the looks of her search history, I’d say she knows you.” Manuel screamed, “Please, you gotta believe me on this one! What else do I have to lose?” The Ranger joked evilly, “Hmm. Another testicle perhaps.” Manuel screamed as the Ranger was about to tighten the grip again. The Ranger let go of the vice and said, “I believe you. Normally pigs start squealing about everything once I take one happy thing from them. She was just a person of interest. Simply all you did was indirectly confirm a theory I had about that.” As one wouldn’t be, Manuel was still not the slightest bit calm and exclaimed, “Oh, thank god!” The Ranger said, “Thank the Devil, because I’m still sending your sorry ass to Hell.” Manuel pleaded, “You said you’d only torture me. Did I not deliver all that you requested? You didn’t say anything about killing me anyway.”

The Texas Ranger acknowledged, “No, I did not. Then again, you should have listened more closely when I said I was in a curious position. Without anyone to tell me what I can or can’t do, I’ve given special reconsideration to how I handle loose ends. Wanna know a little secret?” The Ranger leaned down again and whispered, “It’s not pretty.” Manuel whimpered, “Dear, lord. What have I done?” The Ranger answered, “You danced with the Devil. It was a nice long dance, but did you really expect the crescendo to end happily ever after for you? Don’t make me laugh.” The Ranger allowed for a moment of silence for Manuel to make his peace before concluding, “Playtime is over and I now have all the cards I need, so I’ll make this last cut quick and to the point.” The Ranger kicked out his boot spur and let go of Manuel before reconnecting with him for the last time. He swung his leg high in the air and hacked a deep slash inside and across Manuel’s throat.

Back to real time once again, the Texas Ranger whispered into Gizelle’s ear, “Don’t worry. When I separate your fuckin head from your body, it will look equally spectacular.” Gizelle tried forcing herself out of the chair and she fell face-first. The Ranger laughed, “You’ve already forgotten your leg was broken too. You don’t have a hope in the world, you poor miserable thing. I’ll put you out of your misery soon enough. You don’t have to watch the end of the video. You already know firsthand how it ends.” The Ranger watched in real time as his past self reached inward with two plucking fingers and pulled Manuel’s tongue through the gap, silencing his squeals for good with a traditional Colombian necktie. The Ranger brought the handkerchief over his nose after he wiped the blood clean with it. He sprayed a perfume bottle with unrecognizable substance onto the rag and deeply breathed it all in with a huff.

Now that the Texas Ranger had repositioned himself, you could clearly see a picture of Gizelle in the video. The video ended, but the photograph stayed with her until the very end. Gizelle’s fears had not been misplaced as there was solid proof of her showing Rambo around. She had exposed their operations and according to the law of the land, she now had to die. Once Gizelle was dead and out of the way, the Ranger would take charge where Hugo Martinez fell and finish this particularly big game hunt. The Ranger pulled Gizelle into him along with the machete to her throat. Gizelle struggled, but she could do nothing. The Ranger reassured her, “Believe me, this is nothing personal, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m gonna fuckin kill you. Besides, I already know where Rambo is, honey. What possible use could a worthless beanie sack of shit like you be to me?” Gizelle said, “Please, if there’s anything I can do for you, just ask it. I promise I won’t disappoint you again.”

The Texas Ranger said, “You saw how well 20 questions worked for Manuel. Pinche rinche. Los Diablo Tejano. I’m a gruesome devil who likes to play gruesome games. Do you really want to see how you’d last under that sort of pressure? Besides, I already know you’re not gonna disappoint me. We’re aiming for the one-hit decapitation, remember?” It was a moment too late, but Gizelle begged mid-swing, “Wait.” The machete passed through the nape of her neck, but it wasn’t like butter. Her eyes widened and went bloodshot as she gasped, although issues with circulation prevented her from screaming. The Ranger exclaimed, “Whoopsie daisies! Looks like that first cut wasn’t too clean. Let’s retry that, shall we?” The Ranger shook Gizelle’s limp body and quipped mockingly, “Hey girl, relax. I’m just playin with ya, but then again... On second thought, I think I’ll take my time with you.” The Ranger worked the machete five times into Gizelle before her neck gave like a swivel and her head rolled away with a volcanic gushing of blood.

The Texas Ranger swore a sacred oath, “The time for such fleeting instances of fun are over. Now it is time for the deadliest game. I’m coming for you, John Rambo. For both our sakes, I do pray you live up to your hype. Pray? Pray I say? Who the Hell am I kidding? You better pray yourself though, because I’m coming for ya, John. I’m coming for ya hard and I’m bringing the fuckin wrath of Satan with me. As much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, it is still my humble fuckin duty. If you think you’re finished, you’re dead wrong yet ironically, you’re far from it with me. I’m gonna cut you in ways that’ll make you wish you were dead, then I’m gonna fuckin cut you some more. The Devil will be at your doorstep once again, only this time it’ll be yours truly. I’m the goddamn Devil bitch, and I’m gonna send you straight to fuckin Hell.” The Ranger busted the door open with a swift kick and went his separate way. His crew entered as he left to fix up the crime scene and wipe away any and all evidence of him being there like he never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is going to get fairly violent from this point on. The father-son reunion and somewhat passing of the torch is still going to be a main factor, but the story is every bit a graphic Rambo sequel.


End file.
